Lost Boys
by Abel Quartz
Summary: On a hot afternoon, Garnet is babysitting a toddler by the name of Steven, while nearby his father is taking a respite with the man behind the curtain, Harold Smiley. When the past comes up between Greg and Harold, the tide of conversation turns a whole other direction. Will this sever the tie between the relative newcomer and the established business owner's friendship?


Thankfully, by the time Garnet brought Steven back for a check-in with Greg, she had taken the opportunity to clean all the cotton candy off his face. Greg had forgotten the wet-wipes in the back of the van, but somehow Garnet had prepared for that oddly specific snafu before he had even mentioned it. But the boardwalk had plenty of restrooms and napkins, and now, watching the Gem take Steven by the hand to the Ferris wheel, Greg could relax on the bench and take a moment, for once, to not worry about his son.

"Care for a drink, Mister Universe?"

Harold Smiley clinked two brown bottles in one hand, a wad of tickets in the other. His grin was as present as ever, although Greg hesitated and studied his face and the bottles for any signs of intoxication.

"Relax," Mr. Smiley laughed, "it's just ginger beer. I know you gotta drive back tonight, and I still have this place to shut down."

True, it was getting later in the evening. But for this summer, the days seemed to stretch on even longer than usual, and the crawling sunset still blasted the fairgrounds with heat and roasted the passers-by in an orange haze. Greg Universe gratefully accepted the bottle, rubbing a thumb along the frost on the glass before taking a sip. It was twice as strong as it was sweet, the kind of drink to put hair on your chest. Greg coughed and pounded his sternum with a fist, giving a thumbs-up to show he wasn't quite dying yet.

"Where's the little one?"

"Garnet's babysitting for the afternoon. I had some tax papers to finish for the wash."

"Finally getting that place in your name?"

Greg raised a bottle and nodded, and Smiley sat down as they clinked the glass together.

"Finally," Greg agreed. "Now Steven and I actually have a home while we get the beach house settled."

Mr. Smiley glanced over in the direction that Garnet had wandered off, his legs spread out and his elbows pressing down onto his knees. The soreness of the trial of running this place seemed to seep from his skin, stress and sweat making dark spots in his underarms and lower back.

"How old is little Steven now?"

"Almost four. I can't believe it."

"Proud of you, Greg. You've got something special there."

Greg turned his head to hide a bashful smile.

"Yeah, well," he murmured before pausing. "You have any kids of your own?"

Harold snorted into his ginger beer, nearly coughing with sudden surprise. Greg didn't think that the question was that strange, all things considered; the groundskeeper was only a little younger than he was, and certainly the kind to like children.

"No, uh," Harold replied, wiping his moustache, "that ship sailed a long time ago. Not that I wouldn't like any ever, but I think for now I'm gonna hold on to keeping these kids here safe."

"Hey, whatever's right for you!"

"Right, yeah."

Both men chuckled in awkward silence. The cold of the glass was starting to hurt Greg's fingers, and he swung the lip gently between his fingertips before letting it sit on the wood of the bench. Harold gripped his stoically, like he was a watchman carrying a torch to the parapet. Even now, he did act in a soldierly manner, scanning the grounds for any sign of disruption or disrepair. But for the moment, it all seemed calm.

Greg had to wonder what Mr. Smiley's deal was, if he had changed his last name like Greg had to better fit his image. Or not, who knows – this town was strange when it dealt with identity. No matter what, though, the two men had a certain camaraderie that all men shared. It was all a farce, of course, or at least some kind of masculine disillusionment that brought them together in a functional yet odd friendship, and yet there was still something connecting them under the surface.

Maybe it was Beach City itself. For whatever reason they had started, they were here now, and they were both single and only somewhat melancholy in their day-to-day lives while managing to hide it from the people they cared about. Greg knew that even if Steven saw how much he struggled every day, he would give his old dad the love and support that any child could, even though it wasn't his burden to bear. No child should have to bear the weight of their parent's problems, Greg thought.

"Hey, you doing okay?"

The question snapped him out of his train of thought. He glanced over to Harold and was taken aback by the generous empathy on his face. Behind that smile, there was the humanity that fueled his kindness, and when it came to the surface it was a tad jarring, but nonetheless welcome.

"Yeah! Yeah, um, just thinking about Steven and life and Rose and all that."

"I know the feeling, a bit."

Greg paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

"Harold, have you lost someone, too?"

Mr. Smiley didn't respond immediately. He swung his bottle just like Greg had, tapping with a gentle rhythm on the edge of the bench. The clinking was hollow and melodic, mixed with the sloshing of amber soda inside.

"You could say that."

Greg didn't want to pry further, but he didn't have to push. Harold Smiley sat back up with both hands on his bottle, stretching out his back until the joints audibly popped.

"Things just didn't work out," the man sighed. "I had my time in the spotlight too, Greg. I don't know if we ever talked about it, but I don't usually go around spoutin' off. And I met someone when I was all glitz and glitter, and we…"

This was a time for him to say what was on his mind, and Greg knew he had to listen. Scooting over, he put a sympathetic hand on Mr. Smiley's back, as if he could regulate his lungs. Harold closed his eyes to the touch, sighing with all his breath into Greg's palm.

"We were so different, but everything just clicked. And then all those little bits where we were against each other, they found their way between us. It wasn't just about being opposites any more. He leaned on me, and I leaned on him, and there wasn't enough support to keep us both together."

Human love was something Greg thought he could understand, but even now he was learning new things. Harold let his head hang, his smile faded into his well-kept moustache in a sea of nearly-graying facial hair; he didn't seem to want to talk any longer. Greg cleared his throat, still with one hand on Mr. Smiley's back.

"I'm sorry, Harold," he said, "nobody should have to go through a breakup like this. But you know that you need support, and I think that there's someone around here who can give you that. Who knows? As long as you can find someone who can raise you up, and as long as you can give them that same love, I know you'll have a chance. You're an amazing guy! There's someone waiting for you to make them smile like you make us all smile every day."

That got a little laugh out of Harold, and he shook his head bashfully. Both men shared in the warmth of conversation, fidgeting with their nearly-empty bottles. Greg took one more drink to finish it off, shuddering at the strength of the ginger on his tongue.

"You really mean that, Greg?"

Harold leaned back on the bench and looked Greg in the eye so earnestly that Greg had to turn away, social nervousness reddening his cheeks.

"Yeah, of course!" he replied. "Plenty of fish in the sea an' all, right?"

The hand was starting to feel awkward combined with the stare, and Greg removed it quickly, trying not to make it seem like he didn't want to comfort Harold, but at the same time – no, it was too many little subtleties to mangle at the moment.

Harold Smiley didn't break the stare, and Greg nearly jumped at the feeling of the other man's hand on his leg. Without thinking, he put his own hand down on top of Mr. Smiley's, a reflex as he tried to parse the situation. By the time he looked up, his view was completely obscured by Harold's face.

The kiss was sudden, but soft, and Greg didn't have the proper nervousness to resist or pull away. It certainly wasn't unpleasant, and as the two men kissed, Greg actually felt a twinge of longing for his wife. Her lips, her kiss, it was so unlike anything on this planet, and for good reason – but here, Mr. Smiley was almost the opposite, so completely human and so perfect in the way he brought that across. His lips were smooth against Greg's, and he could feel the effort and every muscle that Harold was putting into the kiss. Even in the spur of the moment, Greg knew that the other man was doing all that he could to ensure everything was right.

The two seconds were broken by the sound of skin drawing apart and the slight scratch of detangling facial hair from the two men's respective beards. Immediately, Greg averted his eyes to scan the fairgrounds for any activity. Somehow, thankfully, the walkway in front of them was more or less clear of tourists. Not that Greg was embarrassed, but the potential rumors, and so soon after Rose… He turned back to Harold with his mind racing.

Mr. Smiley could not have been more confused. The hand on Greg's leg squeezed tightly, but not in comfort or nervousness, but pure anxiety, a feeling that Greg had never seen from his friend and that he couldn't stand.

"H-hey, whoa, it's okay!"

"God, Greg, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I – "

"No, really, it's fine, Harold, I understand – "

"No, I'm so sorry, it's – "

Greg was not about to be outdone, and he was certainly not about to let his friend think that there was anything wrong with what had transpired. A miscommunication, certainly, a little kiss, but nothing more and nothing less; Greg Universe gripped Mr. Smiley around his shoulder, his squeeze turning from amicable to definitive. The other man looked like he was about to be sick.

"Harold. Listen to me."

He made no motion, but Greg knew that he was listening.

"I know that you miss your partner, and I miss mine too. And I have to say, straight up – I'm not that much into, um, into starting a relationship with another guy right now. Really, I would if I could! But that's just not who I am. And I know this isn't who you are either."

Harold snapped his eyes up accusingly, wiping a stray tear as he opened his mouth. Greg realized his mistake and cleared his throat.

"Not like that! I mean, like – this, rushing into this, going forwards so quickly, all that – this isn't the Harold I know," he blurted. Breathe, Greg, breathe. "I…know that you're a safe, sane, and responsible person. But talking about this sort of thing can make anyone feel like they're feeling some feelings that, well, that might not be right in the end. And I'll admit, I kinda misspoke there and led you on a little."

Harold paused, then let out a huge breath.

"No, Greg, you're right," he sighed.

Mr. Smiley cleared his throat, and the two men leaned back against the bench with their eyes on the quickly depopulated boardwalk, only a select few stragglers with fried dough and hotdogs wandering the planks. Again, Mr. Smiley sighed and massaged his temple with the heel of his palm.

"It's been a real long time since I was in a relationship. And I don't know if I hurt him, or if he hurt me, but we both ended up in a bad spot. I want to feel good about this sort of thing again, about making sure that we're both safe if I get into love again. There aren't many choices for guys our age, Greg. Especially for me."

Greg snorted and lightly punched Harold in the arm.

"Please, you're looking just fine. I'm sure you can rustle up some beach hunk in no time."

"What, and deal with that ego twenty-four-seven? No sir, that clam ain't my jam."

"Think of the 'mussels,' though!"

"Oh, but wouldn't he end up being too 'shellfish?'"

"You'd have to wait and 'sea!'"

Before any more puns, the two men were overshadowed by an imposing crimson figure before them. Even Mr. Smiley started at Garnet's size and her traditional stoicism. The inhuman strength underneath her – well, was that even clothing? – radiated off in a wave of heat, unintentional but still very real. In one hand, the stony-faced woman held a smiling balloon.

"Daddy!"

Little Steven clambered up onto his father's lap, riding out the last high of sugar and fairground festivities before he would collapse in the front seat of his father's van. His unkempt black curls bounced all around as the toddler snuggled into his father's chest. The XXS starred Universe shirt covered him almost like a nightgown, but it was still the smallest that Greg could find from the unsold merchandise, of which there was more than he cared to admit. But at least it would last Steven a lifetime.

"Welcome back, kiddo!" he laughed. "Didja have fun!"

"Uh-huh! Garnet and me did a-a little cup ride, and we went on the train, and then we got cot'n candy and the Ferr's wheel and the – "

Greg interjected before every detail could be spilled out onto the daylight. Jumping upright, the man lifted Steven high into the air, making the child squeal with joy. Riding around on Garnet's shoulders was certainly higher, but there was nothing quite like his dad's airplane rides. Harold stood up with them, nodding a nervous greeting to Garnet who almost completely ignored him.

Still, her face broke into that usual knowing grin as she cocked her head at Steven and smirked with that familiar infinite patience.

"I'm glad you had fun, Steven," she murmured.

Greg hugged his son to his chest and smiled his thanks at the Gem. Her voice flowed like lava, and burned with the same kind of ferocity; he was never quite sure if he could get used to it.

"Garnet!" Steven piped up, twisting himself around and extending both arms back to his magical babysitter.

She obliged, and Greg rolled his eyes at his son's energetic shenanigans. Back and forth, forth and back, there was no such thing as 'too many hugs' for Steven. But out of all the things in the world, that was one thing Greg knew he could never run out of.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Harold stood by him and gave him a long and knowing smile. It was almost sad, but both men had come to an understanding of sorts. A missed connection, maybe at another point in time – but even then, Rose's death still had wounds that cut into Greg's future, and Mr. Smiley's heart remained with one foot in the past. There was much moving to be done, and both adults knew it might never be finished.

"Dad?"

"Mhm, what's up, kiddo?"

Steven reached back for Greg, and Garnet handed him over. He knew that Steven was starting to get tired, because it was about that point in the day, and all the heat and the running around was affecting Steven's voice and body in a way that every parent knew meant that the child was close to a collapse for the night.

"Can we ride the wheel?" Steven asked, pointing towards the grand shadow of the Ferris wheel outlined against the sunset.

"I can make one more round," Mr. Smiley interrupted, "before we close down to clean for the night shift."

Greg smiled and kissed his little boy on the forehead.

"One more ride," he said, "just the two of us."

He looked up to Harold and nodded his thanks. A stoic gesture, Mr. Smiley returned it with the same manner of quiet masculinity. The three of them walked towards the wheel over the boardwalk, with Steven telling his dad all the details about his day, all the games he had played and all the toys he had seen and all the food he had eaten. Garnet watched them all walk away, Steven's laughter and babbling drifting over the sunset.

The Gem pushed up her visor and suppressed a sigh of her own. Somehow, someday, she knew that Harold Smiley would find someone else. But she didn't need her future vision to tell that much. In her solitude, Garnet allowed herself one gentle smirk. Her feet made no noise as she traveled over the planks, back towards the temple.


End file.
